Reply to Advert, Send Child in Box
by Vault Avatar
Summary: The short stories of a FedEx-delivered answer to Murdoc's "prayers" - because they really aren't prayers, persay. How the guys' mutual best friend helped them to become the best band this side of the sun. Some 2D craziness eventually, you've been warned.
1. In A FedEx Box

Hey Gorillaz! This is my first fic of the band, this first page detailing what I think is the most pivotal event in the pre-superstardom history of the Gorillaz. Some stuff may be non-canon, but that's aight. It's short, but I hope it's sweet.

You can write off any typos as 2-D's accent, deal?

Thought I'd display both sides of Russel's personality in this, minus the whole possession thing. And Murdoc is only a little less perverted than usual for the sake of the kiddies. Just a little. ;)

I have some Japanese translations at the bottom for those interested enough to know what the hell they're saying. :)

R&R, and enjoy!

* * *

The cold rain that pounds on the window makes for good beats. Stuart Pot realized this while inhaling the magic of a "café" in Amsterdam, deciding not to join in the mosh pit of Europeans by the bar, but instead watch the typhoon outside. A woman ran past outside, her shoes clicking on the pavement like taps, her legs a double metronome. And instantly, the rain matched her stride, perfectly drumming the glass in a wonderful rhythm that forced a musical epiphany upon poor Stuart, whose brain basically imploded once the napkin was full of ink on all sides. He ran full sprint after the woman, hugged her before she could make it into a bank, and busted through his hotel door. In the following twelve hours, he had perfected the song that would make him famous.

That was a while ago, just after his first and only year of university before the accident, but the practice was steadfast. Not every storm offered a gift from the Muses, but it helped some. Even now, no longer watching girls run through rainy brick streets, the artist formerly known as Stuart Tusspot found the depressing blackness of Essex, England to be rather inspiring… in a bleak and gothic kind of way. Though, for some weird reason, the storm of November 1999 was drumming out a lot of damn Green Day.

"2-D!" A voice shouted angrily from downstairs. For a second, Pot ignored it, but then it came again, louder and closer this time. "2-D, you sack o' shit, get out here!" And 2-D, fearing the antichrist, reluctantly obeyed.

Murdoc was a genuine perverted British wanker caught in the 60s, if ever such thing were to exist. In addition to that, he burned down a church last month.

"2-D!" He greeted the songwriter with a sneer and raised arms, revealing a robe he hadn't bothered to tie. "Guess what?"

"Um…"

"I'm feeling better!"

"Yeah you do look a little less green."

"Yeah…"

They stood there staring at each other for a few seconds, before Murdoc ripped one.

2-D groaned, "Fuck, i' that really all ya wanted to tell me?"

"No, in fact." The naked guy grinned devilishly, strolling to the front door. "Get Russ, I want you both to witness it." And he danced into the drizzling rain outside without a second thought, leaving his friend to rip his hair out.

On the way downstairs, 2-D stopped into the movie theater. It was pitch black, save for a square on the far wall that shone a bright display of a soaking wet Leonardo DiCaprio kissing Kate Winslet's hand. In the glow of the disastrous romance, 2-D could dimly make out a big shape rumbling in the middle of a sea of DVDs, arms wrapped around its knees. As Kate let go of her lover's frozen hands, and he drifted into the great abyss, the sitting hulk shuddered.

Suddenly, the lights flipped on and the film paused, leaving a distraught Russel Hobbs open in the stark light. The big guy had been wearing his signature fez, but it now lay off at the side with his shoes. Wheeling around, he caught sight of 2-D with his hand on the light switch.

Russ wiped away some tears on his cheek and stood up. "What the hell d'ya want? I was busy."

"Yah, o-vously." Stuart grinned wide at his accidental discovery. "C'mon, yeh can get back to tha' later, The Doc wants to show us somethin'."

"Is it another stupid, uh... arcade game involving his-?"

"No, I'm pretty sure t's not."

"Well, at least we can narrow it down halfway."

They stumbled down the stairs, out the front door, tripped over Murdoc's forgotten slippers and found the old man pacing back and forth in the driveway, twiddling his thumbs. Beside him, a giant FedEx crate with tape all over it rested in a puddle. When the two younger artists discovered Murdoc's surprise, his gravelly excited screeching bombarded them.

"It's finally here boys!" He danced around with the robe still open before running to the box and stroking it lovingly. "You won't believe your eyes when you see what I managed to get."

"Yea?" 2-D approached Murdoc's beloved shipment. "Why ah there 'oles in the top?"

"Oh, probably just to keep it fresh, or whatever."

Russel sighed. "Another monkey?"

"Are you kidding me, one's enough! We have to feed it and keep it happy and shit, no no, one's good." Muds pulled out a knife out of nowhere, and began cutting frantically. "No, this little doohickey will be the main attraction of this dump! It will never cease to amaze and entertain! And best of all, Russel can't use it."

While the Brooklyn native growled in response, Stuart looked all over the crate for a clue as to what this miracle product was.

"Oi, where'd you order this from?" he asked the guy with the knife.

"Um… I dunno, Shitsburg, Pennsylvania. Ya think I keep tabs on that sorta thing?"

"It says it's from Japan, you- "

The box shuddered and the side began to open. "Ladies and ladies, may you be the first miserable human beings to experience the miraculous wonders of…"

The side of the box fell open and landed at the trio's feet, revealing something that made both Russ and 2-D grimace.  
"A mail-order bride?" Hobbs chuckled.

Murdoc, on the other hand, stopped talking and stood gaping while a little Asian girl trudged out of the crate, squinting in the light.

"Hey!" he shouted, quickly covering himself up. "That isn't my dunebuggy!"

Stuart rolled his eyes. "No shit."

They watched silently as the girl, no older than ten, spun around in a disoriented manner and then focused on the three men that stood there awkwardly. She wore a dusty purple jacket buttoned up to her chin and sported matching orange-striped tights. A green cap bearing all sorts of pins was sliding off of her head.

"Sekai wa nani ka? Doko made hanashi mashi ta ka?" _(1) _The accented twang of her voice forced Murdoc to react as if someone had scratched their nails across a blackboard.

"Alright, what the fuck?" he shouted to no one in particular. "I order a dunebuggy and get a kid?" Said kid shrunk in fear at the sudden outburst, her face looking close to tearful. She was scared, had no idea where the hell she was, and for that matter, who the screaming naked man was.

Russel sniggered. "It's God making up for your tiny dick, I suppose."

"Bugger off."

2-D ignored his two roommates and knelt down to the confused child. "Hey," he started gently. "Um… konnichiwa?" She looked at him as if expecting a long explanation as to why they weren't speaking at least mediocre Japanese. He tried to touch her shoulder gently, but she whined and pulled away. 2-D had dealt with kids before - his uncle's baby son was a pain in the arse, but still a kid who needed things to be familiar and calm. Without reaching for her, he asked "Hey, um… what's ya name, luv?"

The girl looked at him anxiously, then replied. "Gomen, watashi wa aidea o nani o itte iruga ari masu." _(2)_

"Um, alright then." He stood up and looked at Russel for support.

"Bro, don't look at me," the big guy reacted. "I speak ghetto, thas' all"

"Muds?"

Tying his robe together and taking a deep breath, the elder resident tried to think of something. "Unless she knows Thai, I'm no help, mate."

2-D shrugged. "Try it."

Murdoc strolled over and bent down to meet the girl eye-to-eye, which only opened up the back of his few coverings to everyone else. He looked her over carefully while she sniffled in anticipation.

"Dī txn yĕn phlād. Khuṇ chụ̀x xarị?" _(3)_

For a moment, she simply squinted and seemed to analyze this new oddity of humanity intensely. Then, out of nowhere, she spit in his face.

"I'm likin' 'dis girl more and more!" Russel laughed while his friend reeled back in surprise.

"I just asked for her bloody name!"

Stuart shoved Murdoc away and tried again. Using hand signals, he tried to ask her a different question. "Where are you from?"

The girl grinned slightly. "Watashi wa sono basho kara hijō ni tōku, koko de ryū wa anata no yō na hito o tabete i masu!" _(4) _She said this with much enthusiasm; so 2-D assumed that they were getting somewhere.

Meanwhile, the other two had taken the liberty of looting the box from whence this strange new creature had come.

"I got a weird helmet… radio… thing!"

"I've got a box!"

The two returned to Stuart, who took the two objects and handed them to the girl. "Do these things mean anything to you?" But she simply grabbed the helmet and stuffed it on top of her head, smiling.

Not sure of what to do now, he grabbed her hand gently so she wouldn't freak out, and started leading her back to Kong Studios. "C'mon," he nudged. "Let's get you inside."

* * *

"Here, bro, I found a dictionary."

"Ah, thanks mate."

Stu sat in what might pass as a kitchen, sipping Ramen and staring at the little Asian girl who sat in the corner and entertained herself with an old video camera. The red light flipped on and off, filming the eating singer for seconds at a time. He eyed the dictionary carefully, barely making sense of the endless babble that was a foreign language. He tried learning Spanish before. Busto. And then French. Fail. Japanese wasn't any less remarkably boring. But he was intrigued enough to try.

"Umm, konnichiwa!" The girl looked up from her new toy, and 2-D continued. He had written down the words carefully, and then rearranged them according to how the book vaguely told him how. "Anata… nani ka… tabe ni shi… masen ka?" _(5)_

A blank stare was her initial response, followed by a good thirty seconds of giggling. "Anata wa kimyo nah oho de hanasu!" _(6) _she laughed, and stood up to sit at the counter with her new friend. "Nani o taberu ka?"

Stuart flipped frantically through the dictionary, searching for those words. "Oh! What do we have to eat? Um…" He made a quick glance around the room, a mish-mosh of cereal boxes and TV dinners and coffee. And beer. Lots of beer.

Instead of offering food poisoning to a minor, 2-D grabbed another box of ramen and shook it in front of her.

"Would you like some noodles?"

She stared. "Noodle?"

"Yeah, noodles. Pot 'em up, stir, enjoy! Ya know."

"Noodle," she repeated, grabbing the box and examining it.

"Mhmm. You like noodles?" But she didn't seem to hear him. After a quick read, the translation was discovered. "Ramen o taberu… no ga suki… ka wa?"

Nodding her head excitedly, she took her food and rushed to the barely-operable microwave. As soon as she got there, however, her previous apparent understanding of the appliance seemed to disappear, and she simply stood there staring at it. Until 2-D followed the directions and made it for her, she couldn't for the life of her comprehend how it worked.

"Here're ya noodles." Stu said, handing her the meal.

The girl seemed in a daze. "Noodle."

2-D spent the next twenty minutes just watching her eat slowly, sometimes prompting her to say 'noodle' again. It seemed to be her favorite word, and the only one she knew.

* * *

"Right, mate, whadya have for me?"

2-D was shaken from a daydream when Murdoc strutted into the room with Mike, the band's resident primate, on his shoulder. The girl had picked up one of Muds' dozens of guitars and started strumming, surprising Stuart but eventually almost putting him to sleep with the rhythm. When Murdoc spotted the guitar in her hands, he coughed to make himself known and she stopped.

"Well, that's a relief. Means this advert didn't go to waste." He flicked an old magazine ad between his fingers, the one he himself had had published in looking for a new guitarist. "Though the results are a bit… unusual."

"Since when is anything you do ever 'usual?'" 2-D scoffed, rubbing one of the dents in his head.

"Point taken. I found the advert in the box she had, along with a load of picks and some odd stuffed toy." He took a blue stuffed alien of some sorts out of his back pocket, and dropped it in front of the girl, who immediately picked it up and hugged it with all her strength.

"So…" 2-D was unconvinced. "She's our new guitarist?"

"Guess so."

They both looked at the ten year-old skeptically.

"Well, guess we'll find out in time."

"Sure." Murdoc yawned. "Find anything out about the poor doll?"

Stu had written everything he had learned on a scrap of paper, which wasn't much. "Noodle is… ten years ol', definitely from Japan. Doen't know how to use the microwave, but strums Eric Chapman like she's 'im."

"Wait wait wait wait," Muds interrupted. "Her name is Noodle?"

"Well no, she likes noodles, so I'm callin' 'er Noodle."

"Oh, your logic is astounding, professor. Please continue."

"I asked her a bunch of random questions. She likes Johnny Thunder, the color purple, believes that we are a dream and has no idea who Jesus is."

"As it should be, anything else?" Mike jumped from Muds' shoulder and towards Noodle, who stared at the chimp for a moment and then hugged him as well.

"She likes monkeys?" 2-D guessed.

Soon enough, Mike was on Noodle's back and they tore off together down the hallway. The chimp screeched happily while Noodle continued yelling random Japanese, audible throughout the building. Posters fell off the walls, potted plants collapsed, and a bookcase (devoid of books) came down. Russ was finishing up _Titanic _when all of a sudden, two tiny screaming mammals rushed in, interrupted the ghost scene, crushed a few DVDs, and then ran back out.

In the kitchen, the two Englishmen listened to the destruction just a floor above them.

Murdoc groaned conclusively, "She's not allowed in the Winnebago."

"Don't worry," 2-D reassured him. "It's already doomed."

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS**

(1) What in the world? Where am I?

(2) I'm sorry. I have no idea what you are saying.

(3) Hello there, miss. What is your name?

(4) I am from a place very far away, where dragons are known to eat people like you! :D

(5) Would you... like... anything to... eat?

(6) You speak in a ridiculous way!


	2. Everybody's Here With Me

ELLO. To everyone who read my first chapter and liked it, thank you! I'm glad you like the story so far, and yes, I know that the Japanese is total crap.

So, on that note, I have a mission for you guys! If anyone knows the correct pronunciations for Noodle (and I mean, you're positive about your translation), PLEASE send them to me as the chapters come out, and I'll be more than happy to edit it. :) Cuz everyone knows how bad Google Translate is. I hope that I at least got the honorifics correct. Noodle sees Murdoc and 2-D as kind of superior teachers (sama), while Russel is the first one that she considers a friend (san). She's beginning to see 2-D the same way, tho. Please correct me if I'm being a absolute dullard.

I thought I'd make a little half-introduction for Del. He's a main playa, he get around, yo, and is another example of some amazing imagination. Plus he's a better rapper than Eminem by far.

So, read and enjoy! I love constructive criticism about my writing, but keep in mind that I haven't exactly been paying attention to quality lately. I can always edit it with some advice from you guys. Have fun!

* * *

"Everybody's here with me… We got no camera to see…. Don't think I'm all in this world… The camera won't let me go… The verdict doesn't love our soul… The digital won't let me go. Yeah yeah yeah…"

The recording studio was loud with bass, beats of the drum, and a strangely intriguing voice. The recorder wasn't usually on, but the acoustics of the room were best for rehearsals. Murdoc was actually dressed today, in jeans and a v-neck, concentrating loosely on the rhythm he was meant to follow every so often, while Russel was nearly asleep with a series that he had been practicing forever. Only 2-D was focused on the new addition, the one they had been waiting for so that the song would be complete.

He held up his fingers while still singing, and then pointed at Noodle as a signal. "When tomorrow… tomorrow comes today." They sang the line together in a conflicting harmony, Noodle following the translations she had in front of her, before 2-D brought the harmonica to his mouth. For the rest of the song, the new girl paired up with Murdoc and strummed ever so softly in the background, then whistled the tune into a microphone with him at the end. By then, Russ was actually sleep-drumming, and Stu was out of breath but satisfied.

"Aight guys, great work. Take a break, we're back in 'ere in an 'our, maybe some ideas for 19-2000, eh?"

Murdoc coughed at the order, "Yeah, yeah, sure." Then as he was leaving, "Damn, give the bloody kid the singing job, and 'e takes ma' band."

Russ just stopped drumming, fell over, and decided that the floor was comfy enough to lie on for an hour. Spending all night playing Prince of Persia makes a person tired during the day.

Before Noodle could run to the pantry to grab some Goldfish, 2-D grabbed her shoulder and gave her a thumbs up.

"Ya did great today, Noodle. I'm proud 'a you."

She smiled and bowed to him, something that she still remembered from her pre-box days. "Thank you, TooDee-sama." And she bounded off in the great search for cheese and pokemon.

2-D watched her go, and did feel pride. In just a month, the little random Asian girl who showed up in a box had learned a lot, and had become comfortable here atop the Gorillaz' lofty hilltop abode. She was learning plenty English from all of them, although Murdoc's lessons were slightly… unorthodox; and she quickly displayed her real talent for not only the guitar, but for keyboard and vocals as well. She was, for all intents and purposes, the stereotypical musical prodigy of the band. But she was more than that, of course. She wasn't rigorous with it; in fact, most of her interests lay outside of music. She was fun.

It'd been a long time since any of the guys had experienced any real "kid fun," like what had been reintroduced to them lately. After high school, or maybe even before it, most of them were wrapped up in adult crap that sucked the imagination dry. That was one of the reasons Stuart dropped out of university. The other was a vehicle "accident."

Rubbing his head again and popping a little something to stop the ache, 2-D decided to follow Russ's lead and get some quick shuteye. Even if he never did fall asleep, it was relaxing to just sit on his bed and stare at the ceiling.

When the blue-haired singer finally left the room, Russel's eyes snapped open and watched his friend leave down the hallway. When it was all clear, he sat upright, opened one of the closets, and pulled out something he personally had cherished for a while now. Soon he began working on his masterpiece in the soundproofed silence of the recording studio. He laughed in his head and left his worries behind with a hammer and spanner in his hands. His one real moment of peace.

* * *

_Alright, it's been more than an hour, what now?_ Russel had called it quits on his masterpiece and stored it back in the closet, then sat back at the drum set. Five minutes later, he scoffed at the band's usual delay. At fifteen minutes, he wondered if he was missing something. At half an hour later, he swore under his breath and decided to go look for everyone.

The house seemed unusually quiet, aside from the usual: all five TVs on at once, toilets flushing, 2-D's townie friends button-mashing in the theater, Murdoc forcing AC/DC upon everyone, against their will, by way of the PA system. Russel had learned to tune these out over the past three years, and instead focus on the more important things.

_Yo, dude, yo house is creepy when it all empty like 'dis._

Russ growled to himself at the outburst in his head.

_Right, right, Ima shut up, then. Whatev, bro._

"That's better."

He continued searching down the corridors, in empty closets and bathrooms, but found nobody. That is, until he reached the second floor and heard footsteps running up and down the hall. When he stepped on the level to investigate, a little red blob rushed at him and jumped into his arms, the hood falling down and revealing one of the biggest smiles the big guy had ever seen.

"Wotcha cock, Russel-san!" it hollered in his face happily.

"Ahoy, Noodle," he chuckled and let her to the ground. "Lemme guess, you learned that from Murdoc?"

"Murdoc-sama wa wata… um… teach me lot!"

"I thought so." He rubbed her head and walked with her to her new room. Noodle had decorated the previously barren chamber with tons of posters, photographs, and other such things, and even had him help her install a shoji board closet on the far side. Before he could step foot in her domain, however, she pushed on his belly and crossed her arms in front of him.

"Password," she demanded.

Russ stared. "Err… there's a password?"

"Duh!" As if it were obvious that all rooms had passwords for entrance.

"Well, uh… lemme think for a sec, then." He watched the girl roll her eyes and smile like it was the secret of the century.

_Yo, you want a hint, bro?_

_ Hehe, sure._

_ Try 'Elephunk."_

"Is it… Elephunk?"

Noodle stood there with shocked eyes and a wide-open mouth that eventually curved into a laughing smile.

"Uun! How you know?"

"I just know these things, ya know?" Russel gloated and tried to move past her.

"Na-ta-ta!" She yelled, pushing against him again. "New password!"

"Ugh, another password?" Hobbs said in mock exasperation.

_Peanut butter._

"Is it peanut butter?" he smiled.

The girl stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, she just replied "No."

_Sneaker._

"Sneaker?"

"No."

"Bicycle?"

"No."

"Thesaurus, fedora, Australia?"

"No, no, no!"

They stared each other down, one trying to make the other give up the strange little charade. Noodle squinted and frowned so hard at the giant before her, trying to be menacing, that her face started to hurt. Russel, on the other hand, cocked his eyebrow with a smug look on his face.

"Is it baseball?"

The menacing look imploded. "AAAGGHH! Wakaranai! Wakarimashita! Umai!" _(1)_

Russ watched her storm into her room. "So… I can come in?"

"Yes," Noodle growled playfully. "Come, come!"

She ran over to her bed and jumped onto it, letting herself bounce a couple times before she settled on her stomach. From there, she watched her friend enter slowly, and eyed him with caution.

"Seikou omedetou!" Noodle congratulated him sarcastically, and he approached the bed. "Sit!" It was more of a command than a suggestion, so Russel sat on the floor, still smiling at the little girl. He thought she looked a bit irked because of his cheating, but she didn't know about Del.

Noodle continued, whispering softly "Me o toji nasai," _(2) _like it were a secret. But Russel just cocked his head to show that he couldn't understand.

Noodle pointed to her eyes. "Me," she said, and then made a closing motion with her fingers.

Praying that he wasn't misinterpreting her, Russel carefully closed one eye, and then the other, listening to the girl rustle around on her bed for a while and then stop. He could almost sense her in front of him, but didn't give it away. For a second, all was still.

Then, "Open."

He snapped his eyelids open, then realized he was face-to-face with a monster. It was blue with giant fangs and angry eyes, and it screamed a high-pitched scream that made the drummer jump backwards five feet and land hard on his back.

Noodle ran over giggling, tearing the Oni mask off and jumping on her victim's belly. It sounded like an umph when she landed, but Russ was just fine. In no time, both were laughing so hard that they didn't want to stop. Not ever.

* * *

"I haven't done this since I was a kid," Russel reminisced, bringing the balloon to his mouth, and releasing all the helium he could into his lungs. When he took it away, and tried to say, "does my voice sound sexy," the result was too comical to possibly even try to describe on paper. Noodle was laughing hard for a good eight minutes.

Once they'd calmed down and Russ's voice had returned to normal, the girl followed suit, closing her eyes and inhaling a lot more than Hobbs thought was possible for her. When she opened her eyes, they were wide and crazed, and when she opened her mouth, Noodle's already high-pitched voice had intensified five-fold.

"NOODARU!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, and jumped up and down on her bed, repeating the word until the helium wore off. Returning to reality, she looked down at Russel, who was in stitches from laughing so much.

"Oh my God, that's just too awesome," he chuckled to himself, and got up, almost falling over in the process. He looked at his watch, and marveled at how an entire hour could go by like that. "Ha, almost forgot what I came here for in the first place. Noodle?"

She looked up from a quick staring contest with the Oni mask. "Mmm?"

"Have you seen D or Muds 'round here? We were supposed to **practice** a couple of hours ago." He emphasized the word 'practice' to make sure she understood.

Noodle groaned. "Ohhhh, how I… um… wasereru?" _(3)_

"I dunno. But, do you know where they are? 2-D?"

"Too-Dee-sama sleep."

"Okay, and Murdoc?"

"Murdoc-sama… gone. Away."

"He's gone? Where?"

She shrugged. He looked at her and thought for a while.

"Right, well, we're gonna go look for them, alright?"

Noodle smiled, "Kay!" and Russel lifted her into the air. "Na! Koware mono, chuui!" _(4)_

Safely on the big guy's shoulder, Noodle pretended to be the pirate captain, and guided her ship as they set off to the top floor. Russel opened the door and peered inside, reminded instantly of the general junkyard that was 2-D's room. Keyboards hung from the walls, clothes draped from unlikely perches, and far too many prescription bottles decorated the floor. And there he was, snoozing with his ass in the air, headphones still on and Walkman still playing.

Russel felt kinda bad about doing this, but Del thought of it first, so it really wasn't his idea. Besides, it was funny. One of those huge jugs of water that you find at big box stores sat on his bedside table, open. Noodle giggled silently while she watched Russ sneak up, snap the Walkman headphones on the side of 2-D's head, and then dump the water all over him. Later, Hobbs would blame the helium and certain dead people for his actions.

"What the bloody hell!" Stuart yelled out loud, groping at his face and twisting himself off of the bed. He landed with a thud and the crunch of a bag of chips underneath him. When he gathered himself and managed to stand up, his black eyes looked even darker then usual. "And just what was that all for, eh?"

Russ grinned. "We had a practice session two hours ago, and only I showed up."

2-D facepalmed himself with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. He had been looking forward to introducing the band to a surprise he'd been keeping to himself since before Paula left. That bitch didn't need to be a part of his winning number. Now he'd have to hold up on the big production of trying to get the band to absolutely love it.

"Ah, ah, aight. S'okay, we can get t'it tomorrah, I s'pose," he said with finality.

"Yeah, bro, we're in no rush. Have you seen Murdoc? Noodle says he left."

Stu came back into focus. "Yeah, 'e said 'e was runnin' ta get milk, or somefing."

"Doubt it."

"Me too."

After 2-D got dressed into something drier, the group made their way downstairs. They passed by the theater, and the four townies playing Medal of Honor inside, but decided to leave them alone. They weren't really great friends, anyways, 2-D just met them at the pub in Braintree and became pretty acquainted. Invited them over once in a while to be runners and basically goof around.

Noodle and Stuart waited in the lobby while Russ took a quick look downstairs. The new girl immediately started playing with the jukebox in the corner, switching from band to band, Elvis Costello to Coldplay, and when she'd had her fun of mixing songs up, she turned it off and sat back down to wait for Russ. He was taking a rather long time.

2-D yawned, and turned to Noodle to find her staring at him with a big smile on her face. For maybe thirty seconds, they both held the staring contest, but Stu was like the Oni mask – you really couldn't tell if he was ever going to blink. When Noodle couldn't take it anymore and fluttered, both musicians rubbed their eyes laughing. By the time Russel returned from his search, he found the girl playing with 2-D's unusual hair, using rubber bands to make funny little pigtails all over the place, and 2-D himself trying to play her Les Gibson guitar, but failing. He was never a guitarist.

Noodle had played with the singer's hair before. One of her first words was 'hair,' when she pointed to it and started messing around with it. Just about everyone who ever met Stu-Pot had to admit that his naturally blue hair had to have been the weirdest thing they'd ever seen, but then their focus would fall to his eyes and their minds would change. Nevertheless, Noodle preferred his hair. It was just so fun to play with.

Russel came up to the two playmates and sniggered, "You look like a pretty princess, D."

Noodle recognized the word 'princess' and nodded her head in agreement with a beaming grin. Even Stu didn't mind the comparison. "Oi, if she wants me to be a princess, m'all for i'."

"So cute," Russel said, tousling what little hair wasn't tied up. "By the way, da buggy's gone, and so is Murdoc. Put da puzzle together, he's prob'ly getting himself kicked outta 'nother bar."

"Prolly." 2-D raised his hands and gave Noodle a noogie, messing up her own hair. The distraction was just enough to allow 2-D to escape with what little masculinity he had left in his hairdo. "Wanna go find 'im?"

"Ain't rainin', ain't got nuthin' better to do. Let's hit it."

Both men grabbed each of Noodle's hands and walked out the door, swinging her with them. They had been planning on taking 2-D's dad's truck, which was a loaner, but just as they were getting in, Murdoc was getting out of his screeching, not-quite-coming-to-a-complete-stop Geep, and nearly rammed his way through the side-wall of Kong Studios. Nearly. He managed to exit and avoid too much damage in order to get to his friends quicker.

"Guys, guys, guys! I have an announcement!"

Russel sighed like he always did when Murdoc was excited. "What, what, what?"

"Okay, 'old your breath, and prepare yourself, Satan is being extremely generous today. Here. Ready for this?" He inhaled. "I got us our first gig!" The man was laughing hysterically, skipping, and slapping his butt all at the same time. He hadn't been this excited since he first thought his buggy had been delivered.

2-D smiled while the other two just amused themselves with the odd display. "Really?" he asked.

"You bet your little dullard balls, really!" Murdoc couldn't stop dancing in congratulations of himself.

"Well, where is it?" Russel piped in.

"See, that's the best part!" Muds came in and huddled them together so the birds in the rafters couldn't hear. "I got us a late-night show, three weeks from now, at the Dukes-Fucking-Genesis, baby!" And he continued dancing across the driveway. "All aboard for Chelmsford, we are gonna be **big!**"

Dukes Genesis was one of the biggest nightclubs in Central Essex. The old gig at the now-bankrupt Camden Brownhouse, back when they were still just Gorilla, yielded teeny results from a strangely-named little man who had trouble convincing his bosses that they were the new thing. He needed to prove to them that the Gorillaz were the future of the music industry, the name of the 21st century! Murdoc knew as well as anybody that Dukes gave them the chance to get out there, in the public eye, and make a killing for the elitist producers of EMI. A hotspot for young adults rebelling and having fun, everyone with the exception of Noodle instantly understood that this was the place that they wanted to play. It was perfect. Only one thing was prickling the back of Stuart's mind, though.

He frowned. "But, w-wait! We can't!"

The marching band music and the Queen's voice congratulating him on his success suddenly died in Murdoc's head. He turned a creepy gaze to his frontman, and snarled, "Why the fuck not?"

"We only got four songs, and one a' 'em in't even finished!"

Muds relaxed again. "Oh, little Two Dents. Think about working hard to achieve a goal! So we'll work on 'em! We got three weeks, mate. Plenty o' time."

"Ah guess so. Gonna need to practice all the time, ya know."

Suddenly Noodle entered the conversation. "Sore wan an desu ka?" _(5)_

Russel tapped her shoulder so that she would spin around to see him pretend to rock out to a guitar. He started head-banging and everything. Instantly, Noodle brightened up and started running for the house, shouting "Watashi wa gita o shutoku shi masu!" _(6)_

"You're not joking with us, are you?" 2-D turned to Muds.

"My friends," he grinned larger than he ever had before. "This is the start of the greatest thrill ride that anybody could possibly imagine… and the world will never see us coming."

The trio had their arms around each other's shoulders, Noodle jumping up on Russ's shoulders, Gibson in hand, and they looked out on the face of Essex, England. It smelled funny, and the sounds of construction were nearby, but it was the most peaceful place that any of them could remember.

Russel smiled. "This is one happy landfill we got here."

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS - **again, see any terrible translations or pronunciations, and just send me the real ones. Thanks

"Na" and "Na-ta-ta" aren't words, they're just cute sounds that 10-year old Noodle makes.

(1) I don't understand it! All right! You're good!

(2) Close your eyes.

(3) Forget. (Noodle's trying to remember the English word, but gives up.)

(4) Fragile, handle with care! (the same words on her FedEx box, hell yes!)

(5) What is this?

(6) I'll go get my guitar!


	3. Thou Shalt Not Harm

Why hello, there. How are you doing? Good? Good.

It's been awhile, but I can explain. See, my laptop gets borrowed a lot, and on one such unauthorized use of my computer, the screen was completely smashed from the inside. So, I couldn't navigate, and it took a month for the Apple "Geniuses" to stop being idiots and get me the right parts to connect the harddrive to a separate screen and... it was annoying.

Not much Japanese in here, so rejoice, because I won't mess it all up. This is all about Muds :D

R&R, and enjoy!

* * *

Murdoc Alphonce Niccals needed to die. Twelve times, in fact, and counting. He was beaten, hit by a car, choked, beaten, cycle crashed, pushed off a roof, beaten, shot, beaten, crushed by an oak tree, involved in a failed ram-raid, and beaten. God frowned upon the man intensely, which was a good enough reason for Murdoc to hate the man in the sky. He didn't want him, so He wouldn't have him. Somehow, though, that didn't keep Satan from trying to be rid of him as well.

"Noodle, you Wasabi bitch, I'm on fire!"

It may or may not be an odd sight to a nine year-old to see a middle-aged man in just his underwear screaming down a hallway with flames in his hair. All Noodle had been doing was playing around with a trike she found in the basement. All Muds had been doing was experimenting with an air horn, electrical tape, propane and Russ's second pet eel.

And so, the previously lukewarm kind of day had been marred by an explosion, screaming, and sights not to be seen by most kids.

"AGGGH, bitch, get me fucking water!"

Noodle screamed and ran around in circles as well, arms flailing, occasionally looking for a bottle of water. The two were basically crying for two different reasons by the time Russel stepped out of the smoke in his workshop, frustration on his face and a flame extinguisher in hand, and painted the entire scene in white. He found them underneath the sea of foam, gagging on it, and was welcomed by a big hug from Murdoc.

"Oh, mate, thank you. Noodle wouldn't do anything, and I thought I was a goner."

"There's still time for that," the big guy grumbled, hoisting his former kidnapper into the air and leveling him with his eyes. "You owe me a new eel, cracka-ass."

The bassist laughed nervously. "Of course, mate, anything. I-I-I'll go get changed and get on it right away, I will."

He wasn't let down, he was dropped, onto the ground and banged his head. In a daze, the old man watched his savior walk away, reach into a pile of foam, lift out a big white blob that must've been Noodle, and take her away to clean up. Murdoc was left on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

I just wanted to see what would happen, he thought. Too bad it wasn't an electric eel, that would've been fun. Now I have to buy the dullard a new one, bloody Yank. No fun, they are, it's proven. And little Miss Mitsubishi can't do shit, neither.

He tried to get up and looked inside the nearby bathroom to see a refrigerator sitting in a corner. His first thought was why was there an icebox in the loo? His second thought was that he put it there. Stumbling over and opening it, he discovered the entire machine to be full of giant soda bottles.

"Idiot girl," he mumbled, opening a Coke and taking a long swig. "This counts as water."

He felt around on his scalp, running a hand over it gently. Almost immediately, though, he had good reason to panic and rush to the mirror.

2-D had heard some ruckus upstairs and decided to check it out, wary of any surprises. It did come as about half of a shock, however, for him to find the entire second floor hallway covered in some sort of froth that looked somewhat like snow. Shrugging, and with pleasant childhood memories of winter snowball fights running through his mind, he took a running start to slide on his stomach all down the passage, his face covered in the white stuff. Laughing, he got up and made another pass, got trampled by a screaming gentleman that dispersed any remaining nostalgia, and crashed into a refrigerator. His last thought before passing out was, why is there an icebox in the loo?

* * *

Murdoc grumbled loudly and kicked puppies out of his way as he tried to navigate the sidewalks of Braintree in search of the exotic pet store that Russel had mentioned. And underneath the loaned afro wig, his scalp was freezing in the December air. Sure it made him look like the hipster from Hell, but it was a lot better than the alternative red, angry, oh-my-God-he-was-obviously-burned look that his mottled head would display to the judgemental public. Maybe he should've just shaved it all, Lord Voldemort style… oh fuck no. Murdoc Niccals was many things, but he could never pull off being a skinhead.

And skinheads are the bane of the rocking world, he thought to himself, stumbling upon Fred's Funky Friends pet store rather than finding it on purpose. Just the name of the shop made him want to projectile vomit all over the bubbly female clerk, who was obviously a hippie and spent forever trying to soothe the eel into the net instead of nudging it. When I rule the world, he mused, the first thing I'm doing is outlawing inefficient beatnik shit like this.

Disgusting, slimy eel in hand and afro itchier than ever, Muds stomped back to the parking lot on the other side of town, ranting the entire way.

"I didn't need to waste mah money on ether and that guide to torture if the result was gonna be some fat roly-poly burning mah hair off and sucking cock at drums! Mate's gotta set priorities straight, he does, stop stuffing fuckin' carcasses with Mary Jane and get back to why he's livin' in mah house in the first place!"

He could see the buggy lying in wait near the pub.

"And the girl, what the bloody hell she do? If she wodn't no good at guitar, I'd have the princess on a one-way trip back to Tokyo… them Yakuza dopeheads. She'd be popular there! Virgins run good, right? Satan, I think I liked goddamn Paula better. Least she didn't screw shit up too bad. She just screwed. Ts'all, and it's all she needed to do."

As Muds came up on his ride, he saw a few people standing near it. Admiring it, he thought distantly, and then continued his personal rant.

"If that bitch had been smart enough to get me some damn water, I could manage with a quicky-do cover-up. But now, just two and a half weeks until the show, and I'm gonna hafta wear a hat. I haven't worn a hat out to public in years! It's not me, it's not Murdoc Niccals, but it's gonna happen cuz lard-o keeps buying eels and little Suzuki can't operate without a fuckin' translation book."

The closer he got, the more apparent it became the admirers of his buggy were not the kind of people who would actually obey the "Look all you want, but don't touch" sign on the side. Some of them carried monkey wrenches and crowbars. Never a good sign.

Murdoc hauled his heavy bag of water and scales behind some other cars in the lot and edged towards the group of ruffians cautiously. He had managed to find a cozy viewing from behind an old Volkswagon and stopped to get a better look, when the smallest in the group suddenly jumped up on the bonnet and with one quick thrust, impaled the windshield with the pipe he was carrying. Muds nearly cried out in pain for his car, but stopped himself. All at once, the entire mob swung their weapons and threw stones at the vehicle, altogether making its owner squirm with incredible panic and disgust. It was all he could take not to run into the fray and beat the shit out of all of them – or at least attempt to. But he'd have to wait.

The gang was yelling profanities at the buggy, destroying its exterior to the point of absolute incomprehensibility. It no longer could be accurately distinguished as a Geep. Murdoc was on the ground in tears, mourning his prized ride while also making sure not to bring attention to himself, when he managed to hear a familiar voice amidst the grunts.

"Here's to you, you bloody asshole!" It was high and nasally, with a twinge of a voice crack, like pubescence that never quite finished its job. It immediately spurred Muds to stand straight up, sling the eel bag over his shoulder, and yell.

"Tiny, you bastard?" The fury in his eyes was strong, but soon quelled by his former bandmate's even crazier disposition. All at once, the question became why the hell did Murdoc dare do that?

"Oi Doc!" The little man (being as politically correct as possible) screeched, jumping back to the ground, his posse crowding beside him. "Nice hat. Didn't take long, did it, fellas?"

The whole group nodded in agreement, swinging various weapons in their hands threateningly. Murdoc eventually recognized every one of them. Tiny, all 4'3" of him, stood with blood oozing out of his nose and saliva gathering on the corners of his lips. The poor guitarist had been arrested shortly after the disbanding of _Timepiece_, and as Murdoc understood, got the worst of it – he was obviously running on crack alone.

To his left stood the towering figure that was Billy Boy, a dark-eyed kid with dark hair and dark clothes. He was never much for drugs, but he seemed just as angry. Next to Bill was Crunch, the illiterate hulk of a teddy bear, who looked more playful than angry at the moment. Next was, of course, an ex-girlfriend. Samantha Talbot was a part of Murdoc's life that he'd rather keep locked away at the back of his mind forever, those memories full of endless kinkiness that eventually put the bassist in the hospital for a good six months… and put Sam on a rampage after she found him flirting with a nurse. The nurse was never seen again. And neither should Sam have been.

Rocky stood off behind her, his blue eyes like wet stones, a big pressurized air tank under one arm, and a dangerous little trigger in the other. A year later, an accident the pianist would have with an unfortunate Boy Scout would inspire a guy named Cormac to create an antagonist for a horror story – one that Rocky belonged in. Next was the overly-happy Munch, who hadn't wanted to come today anyways. He was perfectly fine with a job he'd gotten designing album artwork and posters for the independent Streetlight Records, but he decided that he could take a day off to keep Rocky's fun doohickey from lodging itself in his head. When Murdoc eyed him, the captive artist made a small wave to his former friend.

And last but not least… that bitch. Paula, looking even more medicated than usual, slumped against the back bumper of the buggy, eyes drooping but furrowed. She made no move to threaten Murdoc, but she wasn't another Munch. She held quite a grudge in that suicidal heart of hers.

Murdoc blinked, then actually dared to chuckle. "What is this, The League of Ditzy Crackheads?"

"I like to think of it more as a righteous hit squad, brotha," Rocky growled.

Tiny patted his friend's back. "There'll be time for that, no worries." He strode up to the demon bass player, stretching as far as he could to look him in the eyes. He was nowhere close. "So, it seems that everyone here has a pretty damn good reason to tape you to that car and drive you off the cliffs."

Munch tried to speak up. "Well, actually…"

"Can it!" Tiny didn't even turn around, but he shut the artist up immediately. "I've been waiting a while to see your face and hold this up to it." He brought a switchblade out and held it against Murdoc's neck. "Five fuckin' years. Just got out last week. There are a lot of gay pervs in there. And you got what? Community service!"

Despite his size, Tiny was a strong son of a bitch. He managed to throw Muds back onto the Volkswagon, giggling madly. "Still got to live, still got to walk around and actually do shit!" He subtly motioned towards Paula. "Still got to fuck."

"Now listen here, you dullard!" Muds got up and stood challengingly, eyes blazing now that the knife wasn't close. "I paid my dues, I paid for a lawyer! I carried a brain-dead twit around for a year, and I'm still working off the time I need to look after 'im!"

"Oh, come now! Little Stuey can look after himself!" Paula finally woke up and was able to stand on two feet long enough to point and talk down to the Satanist. "Little bastard doesn't need an even bigger bastard like you! You've ruined his life before."

"Let's not forget who fucked who, love," Muds grinned smugly. Paula shared the grin and shook her head robotically.

"I hear you guys got a new axe queen. She good? Apparently good enough to play at Dukes."

"She's a helluva lot better than you ever will be. And she's nine."

Paula's face got ugly and furious. "Well, don't be surprised to find her in the canal someday."

"What the fuck is this?" Billy Boy pushed. "You guys reminiscing? Just stick a goddamn axe in his head!"

"I agree, brotha." Rocky grumbled with him, and both stepped forward. Tiny, realizing that the situation had reached the breaking point, went along with them. Soon the whole group, with the exception of Munch and Crunch, had Muds surrounded and pinned against the VW. They pushed the bass player against the metal, afro falling to the ground, revealing the burn scars. His attackers didn't notice.

For a moment, in the gleam of the sharp edge of Billy's hatchet, Murdoc felt something he hadn't felt in forever. It was so alien to him, he almost told everyone to stop what they were doing so he could figure it out. But before he died, he realized that he wished he could do something. He wished he could go back to Kong and pick Noodle up and tell her that she's ten times better than the alternative standing in front of him. He wished he could go up to Russel and thank him for breaking his nose twice when he had done something absolutely stupid, to teach him a lesson. And he wished he could tell 2-D that he beat on the kid because Stu was like the dorky, vulnerable brother he never had. With no weapon and no black belt to speak of, Muds knew that he stood no chance against the assholes from his past. At least his real brother wasn't here – quick death was preferable to torture.

Billy began to raise his axe, ready to strike the first blow. He smiled devilishly and with an unimaginable fire in his eyes. This was it. This was the end.

Sirens wailed, shocking the muggers as several cop cars tore down the street, spinning tires into the parking lot. All at once, the broken musicians scattered into the alleyways, most never to be seen again. The coppers were too slow, and those who tried to chase them down lost the race quickly. The rest crowded around Murdoc, took one look at the scene, then at him, and arrested him immediately. Chances are, with his record, he had something to do with this.

* * *

Three hours later the sun was setting, and Murdoc Niccals came out of the precinct tired and irritated beyond belief. He had been interrogated and processed by a fat man with balding hair who looked upon his prisoner like the criminal of the century. It wasn't a pleasant relationship. Once the report came that Murdoc was innocent, the cop looked disappointed as he let the former felon go.

Muds was none too happy about the waste of time. He got the eel back, but his buggy was being held until further notice, so a black cab with a funny-smelling Arab man who likes cats was in order. Back to Kong he went. _Back to the dirty house of idiot Japanese girls, fat black guys who can't drum, and the medical mystery._

He got out and slammed the door angrily, throwing random bills at Ahmed and leaving him there to sort it out. Murdoc could see the lights on, nothing was burning, and music was pumping from the second floor. As soon as he turned the knob and opened the door, creeping in carefully, he was nearly thrown back out of the house by some screeching creature that knew his name. Guess who?

"Yay, Murdoc-sama home! Gus what? New word! Butterfly! So pretty, butterfly. Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly. Weird, no made of butter. Butterfly, butterfly, butterfly, butterfly!"

Noodle was dancing on Muds' chest, and she was so light that he wasn't really bothered by the dancing. Rather, his already annoyed brain couldn't take another butterfly, her voice once again scratching at his sanity, until he snapped.

"Git offa me, bitch!" he shouted as loud as he could, tossing her off of him and into the dirt. Noodle was quite surprised, and was still saying "butterfly" even as she flew up and down, then landed with a high-pitched "oomph." Murdoc stood over the girl, unsympathetic, yelling harder.

"I don't need your whiny shit or no damned new words! Just shut up and play guitar, and don't fuck with me, or I'm shipping you back to Hiroshima! Understand? Or are you just gonna shit with me again?"

With that, the old man took off, slamming the door and leaving poor Noodle in the dark. She didn't make a sound, she was in shock. She couldn't see anything aside from the cab lights down the driveway, and wasn't sure of what just happened. Murdoc's screaming face was still in front of her, eyes bloodshot and spittle flying viciously. In no time, the reality of what had happened hit her like a brick, and she started to cry. There could've been zombies out there, and she wouldn't have cared. The tears poured and she couldn't stop them.

Inside, Muds stumbled into the kitchen and pulled out a beer. Some American shit, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to drain himself of feeling. He had other, quicker methods of doing so, but that was behind him. He spread himself out over the sofa, the beer can on his forehead, MTV slowly putting him to sleep.

"Yo, Muds!" The Satanists's eyes snapped open, unhappily turning towards the voice that interrupted his forty winks. Russ continued. "Did you get mah eel, like you said?"

"Yeah, yeah I got it." He tried to go back to sleep.

"Well where is it?"

"Ugh, in the kitchen."

While the American searched the room next door, Murdoc was once again close to a snooze.

"I can't find it Muds, where the hell is it? Don't tell me you killed it on the way over here."

Anger gland pulsing, if there is such a thing, the bassist growled. But Russel was unperturbed.

"Shuttup with dat, help me find it. Now."

"And if I don't?"

At first, eyes closed, it seemed like Russ had left, but soon Murdoc was two meters above the ground, hanging by his shirt. Once he was up on his feet, Russel pushed him towards the kitchen.

"You're finding mah eel, Muds."

They stared at each other angrily, Russ obviously the more menacing, but they squared off all the same. But then Murdoc smiled and stood up straight.

"Alright Russ, you want your eel? Alright." He rushed into the kitchen, pulled the serpent out from behind the fallen trash can, and held it up to Russ. "Here it is, big boy."

"Good, now give it to- what the hell are you doing?"

Murdoc carried the bag over to the sink, tore it open and let the eel fall in. "You want your eel?" he snarled, picking it up. "You come get it." Pointing it down the drain, Muds slowly slid it down and turned on the garbage disposal. Russ was too slow, and he swore that he could see a tear drop from the animal's eye as its head fell into the gaping jaw of thrashing teeth. The American was unable to stop the inevitable.

"There," the bassist said with finality, tossing the mutilated piece of meat and scale into the drummer's arms, and leaving the kitchen for the basement. Russel just stood there, staring at yet another possible work of art, gone.

Murdoc couldn't get to his Winnebago fast enough. He met 2-D on the way down the stairs, but before the singer could say anything, he was kicked and tumbled down the flight. Not waiting for Stu to recover, Murdoc was locked inside his private domain instantly, where maybe he could finally get some peace and quiet.

* * *

When Mr. Niccals woke up, it was early in the morning. He had forgotten to close the garage door, so he was freezing in the windy December chill without a blanket. Stumbling from his icebox of a vehicle, he dragged his feet to the giant button on the far wall, slamming it with his palm and watching the doors slide down. Without so much as underwear on, he tried to pull some pants on and half succeeded. Satisfied, he moved for the stairs.

For a moment, his eye caught a new blood stain under his feet, below the first step. He continued without giving it much thought – everything around was out of focus, and would stay so until he'd had his coffee. But later, maybe, maybe he'd remember that it was Stu's blood.

It was a slow climb to the kitchen. For eight in the morning, long after the rest of Great Britain had gone to work or school, Kong Studios was dead silent. Not a peep. Just the occasional snore if you were too close to Russel's room. Half of Murdoc wanted to turn on the intercom and blast Black Sabbath at max volume throughout the hallways. Half of him just wanted to tip toe to the coffee machine and a box of doughnuts, and sit on the balcony. More often than not, the first half won. Today, it was too tired to even try to resist the second half.

Such as the rest of the unoccupied rooms of the building, Murdoc expected the kitchen to be devoid of any life but the insects, quiet and calm so he could sit and eat in one more hour of peace before the day started. Alas, as the door opened and he shifted his darkness into the room, the refrigerator was already open, and coffee already cooking. He half expected Russel, at the very least, to be awake. But instead he found nine year-old Noodle, standing on a chair, concentrating hard on pouring just the right amount of milk into her Cheerios.

When she heard Muds enter, she looked up for only a moment before moving her eyes back down, frowning ever so slightly.

"Konnichiwa, Murdoc-sama."

The bassist rubbed his eyes and tried to formulate a response. "Harumeh, Noodgh," is all that came out, blindly grabbing for the coffee and pouring it into the nearest soup bowl. As he sat there, sipping away, his grogginess began to clear away, and he focused on what was going on.

His pupils shrunk and he squinted at Noodle. "What are you doing up so early, doll?"

The girl replied without looking at him. "I wake at 7:30 always, sir."

_Sir?_ He thought. _I kinda like that._ "Why? Y'don't needta."

She kept eating her cereal with her head down. "Science, I read on computer. Doctor James Maas say human brain re-re… tain more energy and informatation if you sleep seven hours, that it, but wake early, and never change sleep schedoole." Her head rose to give him a subtle look of disdain. "And sure no noise wake up in night."

Murdoc stared into her emotionless eyes for a few seconds, then blurted out laughing, "That's the heaviest load of shit I've heard in a while!"

Anger suddenly burst into Noodle's eyes, and she threw her spoon down into her bowl, spilling cereal and milk everywhere.

"You just not care! Never want to be wrong! Murdoc is God, eh? You so wrong, all time!" Her finger was in his face, her normally pleasant smile turned into something resembling an angry frown, but he wasn't quite sure. He pushed her hand away and frowned harder.

"What? You want a sorry, love? Okay. I'm sorry you're such a sensitive little bitch! Good?"

Quite sure that his own outburst must've scared her, he sat back in his chair and let a smug look spread across his face. In a flash, his coffee was out of his hand and on the floor, smashed.

"And caffeine stunt growth!" Noodle screamed, running out with tears just about to fall. She didn't want him to see, though. If Murdoc saw her crying, he'd never take her seriously. She already knew that.

Her room was right across the hall, and she hid there, in the only place she ever remembered as her own. It was hers, where she could be safe, and nobody could be in her world if she didn't want them there. It was the only place she could really cry by herself.

Muds was still there in the kitchen, his hand still not quite realizing that there was no coffee anymore. His face was no longer smug, however, and he told his legs to carry him out the door, but nothing happened. When he regained control of his limbs, he felt brain-dead, and couldn't understand why he was so troubled. Murdoc Niccals never felt guilt, but Murdoc Niccals never truly dealt with children before. He left the smashed bowl of coffee on the floor. Russel will pick it up anyways.

* * *

By noon, all of Kong Studios was awake. It takes a lot to happen, but it happens. Eventually. By three, the band was ready to get to work on their music. By five, they actually started working. At nine, they broke and had dinner.

Stu was dying to give them a taste of his new masterpiece. It was all stuffed inside a big notebook, ready to burst out and blow away the world. But all day, Muds was hissy and kept swearing at him while they practiced Ghost Train and New Genius, Russel was on one of his silent moods again, and Noodle couldn't pay attention. He needed them when they were wide awake and focused, having fun, before he could unleash the song upon their poor, wretched souls. Besides, they had plenty of time before the gig, and his head still hurt tremendously from the night before.

At night, the entire band would usually eat dinner in entirely separate locations throughout the house. Russel made something odd but delicious, and everyone brought it in whichever way they felt like. It was a chaotic system, but no one complained. Noodle liked to eat in the café or her room, while Russel and 2-D would watch movies or stay in the studio. Murdoc preferred the shooting range or the bowling alley or any other obscure place where one wouldn't try to find him. There was a plasma screen in the lobby, and a bunch of pillows, so he just relaxed on the floor and watched Ocean's 11 with Frank Sinatra. Poor bastard died just the year before, and they were doing specials.

The Indian-spiced eel and rice à la king was finally settling in his stomach, and he was just remarking on how ridiculous Tony's death was, when footsteps started approaching from the stairs to the carpark. Noodle had been eating with 2-D in his room, but decided to bring both of their dishes to the kitchen for Russel. She seemed to have the worst luck at avoiding the demon bass player.

"Oi, girlie!" he yelled from his spot, making her stop short of the next set of stairs. He could see her clench the plates in her hands. Murdoc sighed and waved her to him. "Jus' come here, please. I wanna talk to you."

Warily, Noodle stepped towards her momentary enemy, laying the plates on the ground and edging closer. Muds stood up, paused the movie, and sighed. He had been thinking.

"Look, doll. I was real mad last night. There was a big problem yesterday, and you just came, and I wasn't ready to deal with you. I needed time for me. That's why I got mad."

The girl didn't respond, but instead just stood there, processing what he had said. He continued in her silence.

"Ya see Noods, I haven't been getting enough sleep." He looked at her and smiled, hoping the joke would make her laugh. But it didn't.

"Um… well, I just want ya to know, I promise that I won't hurt ya on purpose no more. Yer a right pain in the arse, but yer alright, Noods."

She shuffled around and looked at her feet. "What about TooDee-san and Russel-san?"

Before Muds could answer, a loud but formal knock shook the door behind him. No one comes around here this late, he thought, unless I invite them. He quickly motioned for Noodle to hide on the side of the door while he peeped through the hole. There on his doorstep stood the largest Asian man that the musician had ever seen besides Yao Ming, dressed head to toe in a crisp jet black suit. He had no emotion on his face, just a plain horizontal line for a mouth.

"I'm sorry, mate, no solicitors please."

The dark man simply raised his hand, holding an official-looking document from who-knows-where. Not wanting to find himself in an MI5 torture cell, Muds carefully opened the door to address the problem.

"Greetings, sir," the man started. "Are you Murdoc Alphonce Niccals, proprietor of the establishment?"

The proprietor gulped. "Uh, y-yes?"

"My employers have come to understand that you had received a package from an unspecified location by Federal Express on Tuesday, November 2nd. We have proof of such a mistake by records kept by the Essex branch of Federal Express Corporation." He swiftly flipped open a folder, showing packaging records, and handed it to Murdoc. While he pretended to read the list, the bassist glanced at Noodle, who hid behind the door. For some reason, she looked remarkably frightened. And she was. She just didn't for sure know why.

The agent continued. "I have been ordered to retrieve the package before the date of 2300 on Tuesday, December 7th, and you are hereby ordered to comply with all demands set forth by my employers. Do you continue to have the package in your possession?"

Murdoc shook his head and looked at the man with bug-eyed. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The package in question is of the utmost importance and absolutely must be returned to the original owners before the due date. If you do not comply, I will be forced to warrant a search of your home for said package."

He bit his lip and inconspicuously looked at Noodle. She sat there, knees to her chest, shaking her head furiously.

Looking back at the agent, Muds was even more suspicious. "What's your name, mister?"

"That information is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer. If needed, you may refer to me Mr. Smith."

"Aight, Mr. Smith. So what you're sayin' is that if I don't cough up what you're looking for, you'll forcibly take it from me?"

"In a manner of speaking, that is the case Mr. Niccals."

"And this package, you say, is a classified secret from what is obviously some government you work for, eh?"

"Any information concerning my employer or such related matters is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer."

"Well, ain't you a fancy record pressed play?" Muds thought to himself for a moment. "Alright mate, here's the deal. I received several packages from other shipping companies on that same day. Could you tell me what the package you're looking for looks like?"

The machine of a man stood still, and for the first time seemed confused. But he quickly composed himself and responded. "The package in question is a Federal Express Corporation-patented 5 by 5 by 5 international shipping crate, license number 098275666712, sent from an unspecified location in Japan. The crate has been custom ordered with air vents, often used in the transportation of live animals."

"Kay," Murdoc stalled, licking his lips. "And, uh, just what will happen to the package after it is retrieved?"

"Information concerning the contents and/or objective of the package is strictly classified and will remain so unless ordered otherwise by my employer."

"I see." Murdoc took one last look at the shivering Noodle, the annoying yet talented brat that came to his doorstep as if by an act of fate… if Murdoc believed in such a thing. He faced the agent squarely, and decided upon the next question.

"Mr. Smith," he began. "Are you Christian?"

Smith seemed surprised by this question. "I… I am not influenced by any sort of separate organization, spiritual or religious."

"That's not what I asked, Mr. Smith." Murdoc took a step forward and the agent took a step back. "Have you read the Bible lately?"

"I'm afraid that… I'm not familiarized with said article of text."

Murdoc shook his head in mock disappointment. "Too bad, mate. It might've helped some." He closed the door behind him, leaving Noodle sitting against the wall, nearly in tears.

As the bassist approached the agent, he removed something trusty of his from the back pocket, and growled, "Thou shalt bring no harm to children, for it is against the morals of the self."

Noodle waited there for a few minutes, not entirely sure why she was so terrified. But she **was**. The presence of the agent brought this fear from inside of her, worse than she ever felt for Murdoc, and even more than the monsters from Stuart's "special films." It welled up inside of her, bringing feelings she had never remembered feeling before. And she could not make them go away, no matter what.

The door opened, and the heavy footsteps of a dark figure struck the lobby floor. He looked back outside, and then continued in, closing the door behind him. On the ground next to him, he found Noodle in a ball.

"Hey there, luv. He's gone now."

All at once, the little girl jumped at Murdoc and hugged him tightly around the waist. She cried into his shirt but still hung on.

"Arigato, Uncle Murdoc. Thank you. Thank you."

He was surprised at first, but soon found himself hugging her back gently. Murdoc Niccals never felt guilt. He never felt truly sorry, and he never ever felt charitable. He wasn't sure what this was. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't familiar. It was really weird.

…

…

…

He hoped the dump workers wouldn't find the body in the landfill.

* * *

TRIVIA (cuz I felt like it)

- The eel is one of my favorite Gorillaz bitez concepts. I thought I'd elaborate on Russel's eel troubles a bit. Search "The Eel" on YouTube for the fate of the first poor serpent.

- All of the muggers in the parking lot are real former associates of Murdoc, except for Samantha. I made her up, as well as the personalities of most of the band members, but thought that most of them would have a little bit of the crap that Muds had gotten throughout his life.

- Rocky is meant to be the inspiration for Cormac McCarthy's sociopathic killer Anton Chigurh, who carried a similar air tank weapon in the book "No Country for Old Men."

- Mr. Smith is a Japanese weirdo.


	4. Drugstore SoulBoy

I'm back! Gimme a hug buddy!

Alright, first thing I have to say is that this chapter took way too long and I'm not incredibly proud of it, but it continues the story. I've read it over and over myself, and this is really one of those chapters that emphasizes a couple of situations that are currently running through the Kong household, and will be addressed later, but real soon. PLUS, one HUGE introduction. But he can't stay for long. :D

And yes, Noodle cries a lot. She's ten, she lives in a dirty house with three musician guys in their 20s and 30s. So expect it. If I were her, I'd be traumatized, but she's strong like that.

Also, I know I can't write raps. So sue me.

I don't own Gorillaz, their songs, cartoons, or anything about them, especially their raps, so... yeah. I DO own a Hello Kinky shirt that I'm particularly proud of tho... dunno if that counts.

Enjoy this... chemical reaction I've so fabulously concocted. XP

* * *

December rain is not something you want to get caught up in, especially in the drab, dead winterland of Essex, England. It was completely grey. The ever-growing landfill to the west didn't help either, nor the shifting shapes by the cemetery, nor the drunken fools stumbling around in town. It just didn't look very brightening when one looked at it out of the garage from a lawn chair, watching puddles collect out in the downpour, drowning the anthills and spider webs. Stuart sat silent in the solitude of the basement, smoking and rubbing his temples to the beat of his painful heartbeats. It had been even worse upstairs, where Murdoc refused to stop playing his creation, Double Bass, and Russel had fallen asleep on top of the remote, with the channel switched to Huw Edwards just droning on and on about shit no one cares to listen to… ever. Especially at six.

2-D puffed a round blow of smoke into the air, watching it float outward and then fall victim to the rain. Ashes dropped onto the photograph in his hand, but didn't burn. The cold air sucked the heat out of everything, even 2-D. He had never felt so cold, as far as he could remember, and that wasn't worth much. No one counted on Stuart to remember phone numbers or addresses or hotel rooms. It escaped him in seconds. But this memory didn't. It just hurt too much to forget, and chilled him farther than to the bone.

Maybe one day, he promised himself half-heartedly, his brain would finally do its habitual job and let that go too.

All of this nostalgia was giving him a terrible migraine, as if he had never left the room of Huw Edwards and his nonsense they call news. It pounded against his forehead, stinging the inside of his eyes and making him cringe. His fingers scrambled across the pocket of his jeans, grasping his trusty green bottle and dumping its contents into his palm.

Alas, only one painkiller fell out. Stuart stared at this strange sight for a moment, a look of sheer confusion across his face. Then, he shrugged and popped the single pill into his mouth.

"Well," he grumbled, "What a sit'ation."

The headache subsided slightly with time, but nothing really changed very much. He was still moody, and sad, and the landscape ahead was doing nothing to cheer him up.

As 2-D's eyes started to droop (warning: may cause drowsiness), he leaned to the side to throw his empty bottle into a pile of rubbish that had somehow managed to grow perpetually alongside the garage wall. He thought that he had aimed correctly when he swung his arm, but only managed to smack the person who was standing just beside him. She had been watching the rain with him, without him knowing, and the sudden plastic-to-face action was enough to send her onto her back. Stuart was awake now, staring at his friend on the ground, praying to God that, please, no tears would - oh, too late.

Noodle's eyes slowly welled up, and as she started to realize what had just happened, the little girl couldn't help but start to cry. She rubbed her face, her forehead red from the smack, and cried out for something to happen, something better to wash the last thirty seconds away.

"Oh, no no no no," 2-D was about to cry as well. He had no experience with children – every chance he got, he ran away from that kind of thing – and he certainly didn't know how to make little Noodle feel better. _Rock her in my arms? No, um, that was for little babies. Do I_ _still pick her up? Oh, I don't know!_ He crept toward his sobbing friend, his heart being torn apart by her tear-stained face. She was usually always incredibly happy, and it would pain even the demon bass player to see her in a state like this. At least, Stu liked to think that. It was probably untrue.

Arms outstretched, the singer approached the little girl and put his hand on her shoulder. When she didn't react, he tried to take her hands away from her face, but Noodle cried harder and pulled back. Not sure of what to do, but remembering what his own mother would do when he was sad, Stuart awkwardly scooped her up and carried her back to his chair. She didn't exactly object, and once she knew what he was doing, she peered out from behind her fingers to look at him. He had started to tear up a little as well, though whether if it was because he was worried about her or if he felt unfortunate for being in this situation, she could not tell. Noodle hadn't stopped sobbing, and she couldn't have really explained why she was so sad even after the pain went away, but when 2-D sat down and held her in his lap, she felt comforted.

He told her that he was sorry a dozen times, unsure if she heard him, and cradled her against his shoulder. She mewled into his shirt and hugged him as if he would float away were she not holding, relaxing little by little until her cries turned into soft whimpers and her whimpers became gentle breathing. Stu didn't even notice that she had fallen asleep – he had dozed off as well.

The singer awoke not an hour later, the headache back and his vision blurry. But he wasn't cold like he had been before. He was actually warm. In a heavy state of confusion, he looked around, wondering if Russel had discovered him and given him a blanket. The big guy was nice like that. Out of focus, Stuart looked down and tried to examine the source of the warmth, but couldn't see very much. It appeared to be some multi-colored quilt or some such thing. But it was heavy. And 2-D gasped when it moved and groaned.

Slowly but surely, his mind came back to him along with his vision. He grinned and hugged Noodle back, being sure not to wake her. Her subtle sleeping smile was a stark contrast to the sadness she had displayed earlier. This was the Noodle he knew. It was the Noodle that he hoped would be around forever. Even though he knew, as well as anybody, that things tend to change between being ten-years old and being an adult, it was worth a shot to hope she'd be around to stay.

Eventually, the little girl grumbled and shifted around in Stuart's arms, rubbing her eyes and looking around for a clue as to where she was. A simple look upwards was all she needed, and Noodle smiled warmly.

"TooDee-san," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around her friend's neck and burying her head in his shoulder again.

"Hey doll, are you doin' a'kay? 2-D tried to look at her in the eyes. She nodded, whispered something in Japanese, and looked up at him. Her eyes were still red, but she felt okay now.

Keeping Noodle in his arms, Stuart started for the elevator, but he forgot his photo and picked it off of the chair before bringing the girl back up to the lobby. Both articles of precious cargo in hand, he felt much better than he had when he had come down there. He felt like just chilling and watching Dawn of the Dead for the thousandth time with a bag of tortilla chips and salsa… yeah.

"She pretty, TooDee-san."

"Hmm?" Stu had no idea what she was talking about, but then Noodle pointed at the photograph he held in the same hand as he was cradling her back with. She could see it perfectly.

"Lady. Very pretty. Who she?"

2-D was quick to hide the photograph down, underneath her shoulder. "Oh, nobody important, Noods," he lied. "Just one of Murdoc's, um, special pics."

"Ohhh, li-like Murdoc-sama hide in bedroooom, uh, wit'?"

"Exactly," Stu smiled and kept walking upstairs.

* * *

"Aight, guys. Dis session i' special an' impo'tant, so don't fo'get it," 2-D announced as he entered the studio, flicking on the recorder and standing in front of the room. "I got somefink that'll blow your minds beyon' further reco'nition."

The group stood there shuffling their feet, staring at him expectantly. Stu had planned his grand unveiling carefully, making sure everything and everyone was happy enough, and he didn't have a headache. Murdoc had been quiet most of the day, staring at the wall in the garage, which was better than most days. Russel had no complaints, and he had just bought Noodle a new amp, so she was anxious to try it out. 2-D smiled and raised his hands in a show of drama.

"Clint Eastwood." He dropped his hands, and waited.

Murdoc was the first to speak up, as always. "What the fuck are you talking about, you veg?"

Instantly, Stu was excited and jumping around. "Russel! Play liek dis!" He ran over to the big guy and motioned at the cymbals first, then a series of beats across the set. Russel tried it out and played perfectly.

"Good! Now, keep tha' beat!" He jumped over to Murdoc. "Play de notes ah play, mate!" Then to the keyboard, keeping to the beat of Russel's drums. It was slow and simple, and after once through, Muds picked it right up, a look of half-interest and half-annoyance across his face. It's a weird look.

"Awesome! Noodle, strum just liek dat, but a 'alf-beat behind!"

She waited for Murdoc, and then did just that. The amp sounded terrific. 2-D listened for a moment to the music, and beamed with pride to nobody in particular.

"RUSSEL!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, and the whole room went quiet. "You can rap while you drum, right?"

The New Yorker looked at his friend incredulously. "Hell yeah, man. Who ya think ah am? Me and Del got da beats cleared, 'specially if it goes on like dis da whole song."

"Awesome, just awesome!" Stu clapped his hands in further anticipation. " When Ah'm done singin', hit de cymbals four times liek in da b'ginnin', and then just… rap!"

"Anything, man?"

"Anythin', for forty five seonds."

"Aight, man."

"Okay, ev'rybody! Take i' from da top! Go!"

Cymbals four times, then more beats and the guitars started, the keyboard doing the exact same thing with a couple of exceptions. Wait, eight seconds, and…"

"Woo, hoo hoo hoo hoo!" 2-D yelled high into his microphone. It caught Noodle off guard, and she almost lost her place, but they kept going. The singer took a deep breath, and let it out.

"Ah ain't happy! I'm feelin' glad! Ah got sunshine!... in a bag! I'm useless. But not for long, the future!... is comin' on! Ah ain't happy! I'm feelin'glad! Ah got sunshine!... in a bag! I'm useless. But not for long, the future!... is comin' on, is comin' on, is comin' on, is comin' on, is…"

The cymbals clanged, and Russ was ready. He opened his white eyes, and grinned.

"Shotgun, boy ya know dat dis is da one! Ya hear it, ya break it, it ain't gonna be fun! Don't you pilfer it, you kill for it, you wish it was yours to spit, it ain't. It ours. And and and… and ya furkan gonaaa… ughh."

Russel had stopped rapping, his head drooped low, and 2-D's rhythm was broken, so the whole room halted except for the drums. He was in what seemed to be a state of unconsciousncess, staring ever forward and down, but still drumming. And drooling.

"Um, Russ? What're you doing?" Stu asked carefully.

Noodle ventured farther. "Russel-san, wake!"

Instantly, light shot from the drummer's eyes, aimed directly at Noodle, who screamed and fell back on the floor in terror. In front of her, a figure had appeared, pushed Murdoc out of the way, and smiled down at her. When it spoke, the voice was like that of something Otherworldly, but kind and comforting.

"Elephunk," the deep voice rumbled the entire room, white eyes and a big, red grin appearing. It was tall, and blue, and it wore Russel's headphones. Without another word, it pointed at 2-D and then at the keys. Unsure, but not wanting to anger the spirit (enough movies he'd seen told him to never anger such a being), the scared kid moved to the piano and immediately started playing what he'd been playing before, to the beat of the drums. He was nervous, and afraid that he'd pissed his pants, until the thing started rapping.

"Mah gurl, what an int'restin' word! Mah ears, oh mama, terrifically unheard! It sounds so absurd, but lemme reword! Ima gonna be me, it's da funkee homosapien! Six feet deep, but alive if you so think Ah can!" He knelt down and picked Noodle up off the floor, letting her fly in the air and then land right on her feet. The ghost seemed to be having fun. "But here I am! And here I'll stay! Up until death warms over and takes me on fuckin' away!"

He jumped up on the counter, mixing all the machines into a frenzy of buzzes and beeping, and continued his intro, all the while smiling between Noodle and 2-D. Murdoc was still trying to regain his composure from the floor.

"Sure, that was cheesy, but finally, someone let me out a mah cage! Now, time for me is nuthin' cuz I'm countin' no age! No, I couldn't be there, naw ya shouldn't be scared, I'm good at repairs, and I'm under each snare!..."

As he rapped all across the room, the walls and ceilings becoming the canvases of a fantastic light show that brought the three rockers in all directions, the ghost somehow convincing every other instrument to play itself – or so it seemed.

The spirit knelt down to a trembling Stuart. "You think this fictional? Mystical, maybe. Spiritual, hearable. What appears to you is a clearer view cuz, man, you crazy!" He rapped against the singer's head and a loud echo seemed to roll around the room. "Lifeless, to know the definition for what life is. Priceless, for you cuz I gon' put y'all on da hype shit! Ya like it? Gunsmokin' righteous with one token, psychic among those who posses you with one go!"

Russel's drumming intensified, came to a peak, and then smashed and ended with the cymbals echoing. The colorful lights dimmed back to normal, the other instruments realizing their inanimacy and settling down where they started. 2-D carefully stopped playing the keys, and all the band turned to the ghost who leaned against the wall and twiddled his thumbs.

"Sup, kids," the spirit greeted, and smiled at Stu. "Nice rhythm, mah man."

"Uh, thanks," the singer tried to say.

The blue thing stood up. "No prob, I'm Del." He held out his transparent hand to Stu, who was slow but eventually made a move to shake. All he got was a fistful of nothing, and his eyes bugged out of his head, the sudden nausea a sure sign that his brain was confused. Del laughed out loud.

"Ah _love_ doing dat to folks!" the former man giggled, edging his way right through the instruments to Russ, who was still asleep. Del bent down and aimed his finger into the drummer's ear. "Ya think we should wake him?" He prodded the big guy a little a grinned at Murdoc.

"Are you up for it, Muds?" he asked, pointing to the cymbals.

The Satanist smiled devilishly. "Glad to, mate." See, Murdoc had had experiences with spirits in the past. Most were actual undead, something that the majority of Britain and the world believed non-existant - they'd never been to Kong. But all of the ghosts and zombies and occasional demons that the bassist had ever come into contact with led him to believe that these beings were only still here because the big guy downstairs forced them here. Earth was their Asphodel Meadows, the place where the strong and deeply rooted souls chose to stay, and where the tired and ignorant souls were forced. You could live undead positively or negatively. Murdoc tended to prefer those happy spirits that refused heaven.

Therefore, when a ghostly rapper steps into your house and tells you to loudly wake up your bandmate with his own cymbals, well… Muds wasn't one to refuse such an obvious gift from dear Beezlebub.

The amazing and well-thought out clang that reverberated through the room and tingling spines of the mere mortals present brought with it a chilly whirlwind that sent Noodle to 2-D's leg and Del directly back into the memories of Russel Hobbs. Lights shone brightly, blinding the wielder of the cymbals and throwing the band's instruments to the floor. The recording device buzzed endlessly with a deafening static that brought back poor Stu's migraine, the debilitating pain bringing him to his knees. And all at once, the static stopped, Murdoc could see again, and all the pain was gone. Russel was awake now, the fragmented remnants of his attempted rap escaping his lips before consciousness returned. The big guy groaned and leaned against the wall, eyes bloodshot and tears rolling down his face. Russ looked around at his shocked friends, but said nothing. He knew what had just happened.

Once Muds was back on his feet, and eyed the expressions of the other victims of paranormal activity, he smiled and spoke for them all.

"So, mate," he started at his drummer while picking up the fallen bass guitar. "That was Del?"

Russ was silent for some time before even acknowledging Muds. He sighed, and grinned a sad grin. "Yeah." It was hard to get words out. "That was Del."

* * *

They sang as loud and as proud as they could. "Ah ain't happy! I'm feelin' glad! I got sunshine, in a bag! I'm useless, but not for long! Mah future, is comin' on, it's comin' on, it's comin' on, it's comin' on!"

Muds zoomed them down the highway, ignoring traffic laws as best as he could, closing in on Chelmsford. They all packed into the newly-repaired-but-not-quite-perfect dunebuggy that had finally come back. It still needed a new clock and radio, as well as adequate parking capabilities, but it raced just as well as it used to. Besides, why listen to generic shit on the old AM/FM when you had Stu-Pot and Noodle singing a duet?

They were happy there, Noods in the seat behind 2-D (the seat that was missing a door, but she was the only one wearing a safety belt, so it evens out, right?), both of them belting out the kid's new song with such a fierce passion that it scared the crap out of Murdoc. It wasn't their voices which scared him, no, their voices were perfect. And it was just that. It was perfect. Muds was as anxious as he'd ever been, for the future. He hadn't remembered feeling like this since an overdosed hospital-patient Stu had accepted to sing for him.

Russ was relatively quiet, sitting in the back next to Noodle, prepared to jump over and hold her tight should anything happen concerning the missing door. He wasn't a singer; for every time he tried, he had been laughed out of the spotlight. He was content enough listening to the two stars next to him be perfect in every way.

So the group tore down the road, weaving in and out of evening commuter traffic, not a cop in sight. It was rather refreshing. After the incident in the studio, Mr. Niccals was in such a good mood (strange, right?) that he wanted to celebrate somehow - a big Chinese take-out feast or something to keep the moment alive. Noodle did him one better: she had found a Japanese restaurant nearby, who's presence piqued her interest in her own native cuisine for a long while. It was a good idea.

Zen Noodle Bar was ten minutes away, and the band was dying to cool off for just that long in the frosty air. When they pulled up to the neon downtown building, Noodle immediately jumped out and ran for the door, leaving her "guardians" behind. Without a second thought, she rushed up to the bar and ordered everything that looked good. Luckily the bar girl spoke Japanese, and hesitantly did as the little kid wished. If she couldn't eat it, Russel would.

Once the girl was satisfied with her spending of Murdoc's money, the whole dysfunctional family chose a corner seat with big chairs, where they could celebrate loudly in peace.

Even after Noodle was full, she still wanted to try different good-looking dishes; Russel cleaned up whatever she left behind; Murdoc chose only sake, and it was beginning to show; while Stu just sat there, humming his song to himself, picking at a big plate of rice and shrimp. The waitress who was in charge of them could only imagine the situation that landed a small ten-year old in these delinquents' hands.

Muds eventually took a smoke break outside, watching the cars pass by and listening to a nearby nightclub pump its nightly beats. Somewhere between the salads and the seafood, a rather content 2-D left his hungry friends and joined the bassist.

In the light of the neon, Murdoc's small, smoking smile appeared illuminated brilliantly on one side, and then thrown into a dramatic pitch black shadow on the other. The smoke from his Capstan too vanished into the wall of nothingness, dissipating into the air without anyone's notice. Even the scorched bald spot that the musician was desperately to hide wasn't visible until he turned towards the lanky figure approaching him.

"Ah, Denthead," he started with a slight wave of his fag. "I'd offer you one, but the last time I did that to anybody, she was your girl."

The singer chuckled soberly and leaned against the wall beside his friend. "Tha's aight. I got mah'wn." He edged out a pack of Lucky Strikes and popped one in his mouth. The one thing that Murdoc did offer was a light – a very great generosity on his part, really.

The two just stood there, puffing and eyeing the girls all dressed up for a Saturday night out. None of them had dates, as far as either of them could see, but… Noodle's bedtime was 10. So the second-long fantasies that each of them had was enough for the moment. 2-D didn't feel like getting up and doing much anyways.

Muds had other plans. Once the filter was crushed into the sidewalk crack, he took off into the alleyway, leaving his lazy colleague behind.

"Oi!" Stu called out. "Where ya fink ya goin'?"

But Niccals remained silent as he disappeared into the darkness. On the other side of the alley, more lights shone through, allowing the bassist's silohuette to take a vague shape above the ground. Blindly, and already with bad eyesight, 2-D felt he had no choice but to go after him.

"Murdoc, Ah'ave a feelin' Ah'm gonna 'ate you real soon."

"Why must you always denote me to violence, faceache?" the darkness replied.

"Coz tha's yo defau' settin'."

"Perhaps, but is'not my only one."

By some sort of miracle, 2-D found himself stepping from the alleyway unharmed, back into the light of the small city. Muds was farther down the street, never stopping to check on his confused follower.

The two walked on at a distance from each other, the sidewalk getting more and more crowded as they made their way into the center of Chelmsford. Well-dressed youths loitered around the shops and cafés, passing around pot and alcohol, having fun but never getting out of control; for every ten kids there was a cop leaning against a wall, but they too appeared to see it as a night out. Music pumped from somewhere in the distance, and as Stu got closer and closer to the epicenter, he realized where Murdoc was leading him.

"There it is, dents," the old man mused, eyes wide and hands on his hips. "There's our ticket to the beginning of what'll be a long and beautiful… collaboration." He turned to his blue-haired friend. "And today, you basically gave me my Christmas present."

"Ah tot ya dint celbrate Chrismas."

"Don't be a dolt. Any occasion where I get free gifts is an occasion I'm at." Turning back to the brightly-lit Dukes Genesis club, he sighed. "I didn't think I'd meet a ghost today, I didn't think I'd have sake again, and I didn't ever once believe that that tiny little walnut o' yours was capable of some sort of genius." Muds reached over a knocked on 2-D's head, forcing the singer to shrink away involuntarily.

"Yessir, we're gonna fucking rock. Once my hair grows back right, o'course."

Stu looked back at the distant alley of the noodle bar anxiously. "Right, well, I's hopin' ye'd liek it. Worked o'it fo' a good fi'e monts, ah did."

"And it showed, denty, it showed."

Murdoc wouldn't take his eyes off of the club. The kids strolling in and out of the building looked like they were having fun, but the bassist imagined the look on their faces – they demanded something new, something fresh. He pulled out another cigarette, the liar, and lit it up without looking. So taken up by this moment of glory was he, that he didn't notice Stu inch away down the street, hurrying to be back with his real friends.

* * *

I don't think anyone knows just how much fun I have with 2-D's accent. ^_^

Murdoc DOES celebrate Christmas. Why? Because he loves free stuff. Does he GIVE during Christmas? No fucking way.

R&R! I hoped you liked it.


	5. Like Banksy

Oi, everyone!

Been a while, but I think that this one's a masterpiece, personally.

Introducing: The agent and the producer. Nice little surprise for you in store. Turns out, our world and theirs aren't so different from each other as one might think.

As a reminder, this story focuses mostly on Noodle and how she deals with things, but the rise of the band surely includes them all.

Alright, R&R, I hope you enjoy this installment!

* * *

It wasn't two weeks later when Murdoc's night of fantasy finally arrived.

They got a van. It was a purple mini with a "Carrying School Children" sign on the back, but it was big enough to carry 2-D, Noodle, and most of the band's equipment. Stu reminded himself that he needed to repay his mum later, somehow.

With no room for their bodies, let alone their pride, in the van, Muds and Russ took the fully-repaired and newly-souped buggy to Chelmsford instead. New rims, new camoflauge paint job, new hair. Murdoc Niccals was ready.

It was warm for the winter solstice closing in, but the Saturday night before Christmas was guaranteed to pack the clubs with vacationing Americans and college kids galore. Thirty minutes before showtime, as the lines outside Dukes Genesis began to stretch out and around the street corner, Muds decidedly revved up and drifted dramatically past the front entrance while Russel gripped his chair with fingernails. To get the kids excited, the bassist reasoned. Though, most of them only saw some douchebag show off and almost hit a group of teenage girls. The brief display was immediately followed by a carpool van, its driver hiding his face from embarrassment behind the steering wheel.

Stu needed to calm down. He was just excited, anxious, worried; normal stuff. But sweat was already dripping from his brow, and he clenched the wheel until he heard the leather grip squeak. Self-conscious all the while, he looked to see if his passenger noticed.

Noodle sat staring straight ahead, hands on the seat, hopping up and down with a big smile on her face. She seemed to bounce to a beat in her head, and D could see her fingers moving across the chair as if a guitar was in her hands. Cute little kid, he thought, and turned into the back alley where they'd unload. When a streetlight shone in her eyes for a moment, Noodle squinted and noticed her friend observing her. She kept bouncing and stared right at him.

"Rockstar," she giggled, beaming. Stu rolled his eyes, and realized that he'd stopped sweating. Gotta love Noods.

When they stopped and parked in front of the back door, the two watched as Murdoc was already bossing around a teenage busboy, shoving amps and wires into the poor kid's arms. Russel sat off to the side, watching the van come with his drumset.

With a sudden feeling of newfound confidence, Stuart jumped out of the car, shoved open the side door, and swaggered towards his bandmates.

"Oi, Muds, wot're yew forcing on dis guy, huh?"

The club employee, who bore a strange resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby-Doo (at least, that's what Noodle thought), turned frantically to what might be his savior.

"'E wants me to set up El Diablo and make 'im a shaken brandy Sazerac!" Beneath the armful of wires and other gear, he shook his head. "I don't even know what that is!"

The singer bit his lip and shook his head, grabbing an amp from the hefty load. "Jus' bring all dat in, and ge'us a roun' a lagers." After looking to Noodle getting out from her seat, he turned back quickly. "And one, uh, Coca-Cola."

"Can do, sir!" the busboy yelped, voice cracking, and sped back off into the club before Mr. Niccals could make any further demands. Without a word, the bassist grabbed his beloved Gibson Flying V from the back seat and sauntered in as well, grumbling at the last second, "No fun."

Eventually, the band (mostly Russel) managed to haul all of the gear from the van down a hallway and into a small backstage room. There, their beverages were waiting. They all made sure that Noodle didn't accidentally grab any alcohol.

The busboy came in while the band drank, and stood as far away from Murdoc as he could. "Um, the keyboard is all set up, all the amplifiers are in place, and such. Drums are still all apart, though."

"I'll get it," Russel mumbled, squeezing out of the room past the employee, who turned to 2-D.

"Is tere anyting else you need?"

The singer took one last gulp of his drink. "Uh, um, I fink, eh…" he cleared his throat. "Coul' yew poss'bly put up a big sheet o' paper to cover da back o' da stage?"

The boy was confused. "I suppose I could 'ang some wrapping paper 'cross. We got loads."

"Yeah! Do tha'!"

"Sure thing," and the kid sped off.

Murdoc, beer in hand, finally spoke up from his unusual silence. "What in the world of the denthead do we need wrapping paper for, eh?"

2-D pushed past the old man to a small toolbox in the corner of the room, next to where Noodle was practicing her favorite song. She watched him and smiled, without looking at her guitar, as he pulled a big can of red spray paint from the container.

"And wots with the paint? Please, please don't do something stooopid tonight, of all nights."

With a mixed look of innocent irritation and optimistic excitement, Stu waved his arms dismissively at the band leader. "Don' worry, Muds. I's gots a leettle plan ah tot mite be fun."

"And that is?"

"Well, see, as da lites com'on, ah'm gonna jus' spray our name all 'cross da paper. Ya know, sorta liek a signatoor on ahr own work o' art: Ahr music! Liek, uh, liek Banksy! Only no' street art, but music."

Murdoc looked on as if his singer had three heads and boobs. Nah, Murdoc threw in the boob thing. But, it took a while for him to shake his head, groan, and grab for his cigarettes.

"Whateva, do wot you want, you dumb dullard. Write our name on wax sheet, I don't care." He spun to Noodle's corner. "What I care about is if princess here can do what we've been training her to do for the past two months."

The familiar word 'princess' once again got the girl's attention, and she looked up at the old man without stopping her practice. Murdoc continued.

"Who's to say the little brat won't get stage fright, eh? Who's to say she won't forget the shit we've been going over and over and over again with her?"

"She got i' down!" the singer protested, turning to the axe queen. "Show 'im Noods!"

Noodle nodded excitedly and began picking her guitar to the tune of their second song 'Punk' like a pro.

"Aight, good! Ghos' Train now!" Her fingers took a dive across the guitar's neck, finding the right notes immediately… naturally. It sounded just like Paula's playing, except better.

"Kay, an' Tomorrow Comes Today!" The rapid switch to a completely different song was flawless.

Stu turned to his grizzled old bandmate and grinned a toothy smile of victory. Murdoc smacked it right off.

"Aight, she's good! Don't be a prick 'bout it!" he growled. "She just better not be scared of crowds." And with that, the bassist sauntered out of the room to find something to scream at.

Rubbing his face, but still smiling, 2-D got up and sat next to Noodle. She looked at him with the friendliest expression ever, still practicing the last song Stu had given her.

"Rest tha' 'and, luv. Gotta keep i' fresh fo' da stage!"

Noodle silently agreed and stopped strumming, but continued humming the songs she had become accustomed to, bouncing her legs on her chair and sipping the Coke she'd been given.

"Hey, D!" A rumbling voice echoed from down the hallway.

"Yea?" the singer yelled back.

"Yo paper's all up and the stuff's set! Gig's in ten minutes!."

Stuart looked at his watch: 8:50. "Sure, we're all ready!" and he picked himself up while Noods carried her acoustic guitar gingerly with both hands.

When the two came to the stage, Russ was ready at the drums while Muds hooked himself up to the largest amp in the room. The sheet paper was hung across the back of the stage, just as 2-D had asked. Voices carried from where the crowd was gathering, drinking and dancing lightly to warm-up music. Noodle ran to her spot and connected her electric guitar while Stu took his place in front of the microphone, to the side of his keys. Double check. All things cleared. The radio fades out and the lights dim. The voices drop from lively discussion to hushed whispers and the occasional cough. The large black curtain rises straight up into the ceiling, and 2-D steps back to the wall with a can in his hands. Murdoc drops a single, long G-note that echoes throughout the club. Spotlight slowly turns on them, illuminating only the singer. He has his back turned to the crowd like the start of some sort of lame 80s intro, but surprises the viewers with the shake of a can, and the sharp hiss of aerosol. In big, red letters of dripping paint, the introduction is made silently.

Up across the wall, as tall and as wide as Stu could make it, read GORILLAZ.

Turning to the crowd, the tall musician looked straight into the spotlight, and some girls in the front gasped. They looked uneasy and took a small step from the stage, as if the singer was a contagious zombie. But Stuart only smiled and walked to the mic.

He whispered, almost sibilating, his lips turned up to a mischievous smirk, "I knew you'd say that."

Lights shine quickly on the other band members, illuminating the crowd further. Muds could see his only link, Smiffy, a balding man who looked uncomfortable at the bar. Next to him was a far more imposing man, blue suit and tie, brown hair cut sharp to accentuate a face made up completely of straight lines. He looked familiar, somehow. Mr. Niccals, the light now beginning to blind him, squinted and laughed. The microphone picked it up pretty well, too. He didn't even mean it, he just laughed a sinister laugh that shook Smiffy to the core. But if the bigger man was disturbed by this, he did not display it in the slightest. Murdoc laughed because this was it. He was here. And dammit, it felt fucking good.

Russel hit the cymbals five times. The guitarists began their riff. 2-D put on his falcetto mode. Del was nowhere to be found.

* * *

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck, mate, fuck!" Murdoc jumped out the back door of the club, bass guitar in hand, and began running around the alleyway. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! THAT was fucking WICKED!"

2-D jumped out after him. "'Den stop yeh cursin', Doc, i's a bloody good ting!"

The bassist was laughing with a beer in his hand. "Ah, ha, hah'll curse if I want to, mate! That was damn PHENOMENAL! You think they want an encore? I think they do. I can hear them, shhhh, can you hear them?"

"Ah tink ah hear 'em shufflin' out, Muds."

Out came Noodle and then Russel, both looking tired and covered in sweat, but smiling as wide as the doorway they'd just stepped through. The axe queen jumped around with Murdoc for a while, yelling "Rockstar, rockstar" again and again, giggling all the while. After a bit, both musicians became tired and simply slumped against the van to catch their breath.

"I tell you, mates, I think that stiff fella was tappin' his foot a little on Ghost Train. Oh boy, I know he's from EMI, but is he Virgin, Capitol? Oh oh oh, Parlophone? I think he liked it. Do you lot think he liked it?"

An amused Russel grunted, "Man, I don't know. Go ask him."

"What?" The demon bassplayer ran up to his drummer and stared at him straight in the eyeball, licking his lips nervously. "You want me… to just mosey on over to an EMI TALENT SCOUT… and ASK HIM how we did? Are you mental?"

"Blimey, stop yelling so loud, guys." A new voice, kind of squeaky and reserved, echoed from the back door. Out came Smiffy, a rather sad-looking man with a sad-seeming job. Not tall enough for his potbelly to look distinguished, he meandered down the steps carefully and brushed some strands of long-lost hair out of his face; an unfortunately ironic habit. Smiffy had been there at the Camden Brownhouse, sipping a brew in that dirty understudy to the Roundhouse, after he had come agonizingly close to being fired. And then he had heard Gorilla.

They had two songs and a small jam session on the stage, a little gang of misfits with cigarettes in their mouths and rips in their jeans. They had just an hour to get set up and play what they could before the next down-and-out musician could have their turn, and all the alcohol-stained faces at the tables had no interest in them. All except one man at the bar. What happened next was history.

_Don't mess this up, you need this job,_ Smiffy thought as he approached them that first night. And he thought this now, as well. His boss was waiting, and this would be the turning point of whatever his future would be. Rags or riches, which would he choose? But the answer was obvious.

"Aight guys, do you know what you did in there?" he started. They all looked at him expectantly, and he looked at them. His gaze lingered on the small Asian girl, an addition whom Mr. Niccals had forgotten to alert him to until three nights ago. But Smiffy smiled and took off his glasses. "You just gave the best premiere concert I've seen in a very long time. Mr. Albarn wants to speak to all of you."

The bassist spat out a gulp of beer. "He does?" The other band members looked surprised as well.

"Yes, he was tapping his foot, which is a rarity. Mr. Albarn is waiting patiently behind the curtain, so, whenever you guys are ready." He began to walk off, but turned back suddenly. "By 'whenever,' I mean 'immediately,' aight?"

"Aight," Murdoc hastily sputtered, and then proceeded to push his mates back through the club door. Halfway down the hallway, he forced them to stop complaining, and the four walked out to the stage as calmly was could be.

The man in the suit had his back turned, apparently to examine Russel's drumset, when they walked in. Without a word, he spun around and took his hands from his pockets, the tiniest hint of a smile at the very tips of his mouth. At once, the only two Brits in the band recognized this man; he was pretty popular back in 2-D's high school days. But neither of them brought this to attention. Muds simply strode up to him, sweating bullets, and held out his hand with a jab.

"Hello Mr. Albarn, so good to meet you, my name is Murdoc Niccals, I'm the bassplayer, and this is Gorillaz: Stu, Noodle, and Russel, we appreciate you coming, did you like the show?"

Muds already knew he'd messed up, even before he finished his sentence. Albarn didn't take the hand, but just stared at this strange and ugly man, looked down his feet, and sighed.

"Alright, two things: One, you appear to be the most insane cad I have ever seen, and you're a bloody moron. Two, those are some godrotting ugly shoes."

Everyone looked down at Muds' red leather Barratts, and grimaced. Albarn was right.

The producer stepped back, and continued. "I presume that you are the group leader, eh? Quite a green little twat, got no experience. I introduce myself first, you hear? Then you silently nod as I explain everything, and you pack your van and go home. You guys aren't anything special, that's for sure. I got a near-blind pianist, some American wanker who thinks he can hit barrels, and this… I dunno know what you are, monkey, but you play axe alright."

The man whipped out his cell phone and began pressing buttons with some urgency.

"Furthermore," he still spat, "there's some crotchedy filth standing in front of me, his mid-life crisis clearly having taken hold of his feeble mind, and who sounds like a bloody hyena on ten packs a day. AND he can't seem to do shit right, from the looks of it."

With a look of superiority over his now-cowering victims, he brought the phone to his ear, carrying on.

"I'm calling the manager. Gonna see why I even bothered coming down to this rathole to see a bunch of rats attempt music. Your 'agent' is going to be fired, by the way, forcing me to allow such rubbish to enter my ears. I'll have you know that I have been the executive producer for four world class bands, and over eighteen highly successful albums released in the past six years alone. Eighteen! Each on the charts. That's more coin than you'll all make in your lifetimes put together, you…"

He eyed each one of them, his sinister scowl like a deep scar across the face of a monument. They all looked ready to cry, especially the blue-haired one. Just one more insult couldn't hurt.

But Albarn burst out laughing. He threw his cheap cell to the ground and grabbed his stomach as the howling exploded from his mouth. After a few seconds, he regained a level head, but still chuckled.

"I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore." The previously fearful expressions before him morphed into ones of complete incomprehension. "You guys don't need to worry about anything. There's no angry manager, Smiffy isn't gonna get fired, and you, little lady" he pointed to Noods, "are not a monkey."

Noodle beamed, not because she understood what he was trying to get at, but because he said the word 'monkey' with a smile.

The producer bent down and gave her his hand. "Name's Damon Albarn, I just got this job last week."

* * *

"I like him."

Noodle sat on one of the bar stools in the lobby of Gorillaz Headquarters, a.k.a. Kong Studios. She kicked her legs back in forth to spin the seat around, while the guys paced all across the room. Damon was making a phone call just out the door, and Murdoc hadn't bothered warning him about the environmental hazards of the hill.

Now, the old man wrung his hands and tried to look at the white walls for an answer. The frontman of Blur-turned-record producer was at his house, ready to determine their futures. He barely paid any attention to the conversation that Russ and Stu were having.

"Ah fink i'was cruel. Ah lit'rally lost er'y bit a' confidence ah had cuz a' dat stunt."

"Yeah, but that's why we love you D."

"Whaddya mean by dat?"

"I mean, uh, well, it was a pretty funny prank, huh?"

2-D gave the drummer a glare. "No t'wasn't. Ah jus' told you. Was cruel, s'wat it was."

"I think ya just need to be a little less sensitive, man. He can make us famous, or… un-famous, if he wants to."

"Dodn't mean 'e ain't a bloody prick."

"Hey!" Murdoc called from across the lobby, directly at his singer. Almost immediately, Stu recoiled and made a preliminary motion to run for his room, but Russ held him in place. Muds continued, "Don't use any o' that cursing when Mr. Albarn's around, eh? We need to cinch this, here and now."

"Aight, Doc," Russ reassured him, and watched as he continued twiddling his thumbs across the floor. Then the American turned back to his friend, and whispered "Geez, you'd think the Big Man Downstairs himself was after him. Is the Mud Man finally inferior to someone?"

The two chuckled in the corner while Noodle continued to spin around on her stool, unaware of most of what was going on. All she could think about was the actor-man. He'd been acting, that's what Russ had said. And actors are pretty cool people.

Amidst the general anxiety, Kong's front door opened up, and in stepped a perfectly non-zombie Damon Albarn. He flipped his cell phone closed dramatically, and swaggered to the bar where his new clients stood waited on bated breath. With a cock of the eyebrow and a chuckle at Murdoc's increasingly sweaty face, the producer spoke up at last.

"We're in."

You should've been at the massive all-night party that followed those words.


End file.
